The Clash Of The Titans
by teh sadems x
Summary: DISCONTINUED.
1. The Effects Of Azkaban

So many years...

Ugh.

What a wasted life. My father would be flipping in his grave.

I've failed the Master, and missed out on so many things...

Look at me.

I'm shrunken.

I used to be so well built, a nice frame.. But now... I'm just...

Here.

Not fully, mind you. You don't exactly stay sane after staying so long in a place as wretched as Azkaban. I would have rather stayed home with Narcissa P.M.S-ing the rest of our lives instead of... there.

I'm so pale... paler than usual. Such bad feeding terms they have there... and such terrible food. I wouldn't be surprised if half of it was poisoned.

EW.

What a pronounced ribcage.. I can count the ribs on either side. Disgusting... I need meat on my bones...

Draco must be disgusted with me.

My son, my only son. My mistake, my dragon..

He must be so angry.

I left him healthy, I came back.. not fully 'here', nor 'there', and.. just.. disgusting looking.

Sickeningly skinny.. I can't bear to look at myself. It hurts, in more ways than one.

Some girl is supposed to come.. interview.. I don't remember.

Gods, look at my face. My once beautiful face.. it's so.. just.. not me.

My cheekbones are so pronounced now. More so than usual.. my lips are still thin, but a paler pink. Those bags beneath my eyes, why will they not leave me? I've gotten as much sleep as I possibly can, and yet they still plague my skin like a permanent blemish.

Even my eyes look dead.

They used to have a spark behind them, everyone saw it. They were.. they told who I was. What I was inside. What I felt.. now they're nothing.

Just.. dull. Lifeless.

My collarbones are protruding from my skin.. shoulders are thinner..

I need to cover them. I need to get more clothing on, I have to hide this hideous body.

Yes.. black slacks, that will do. Black slacks, black shoes, white dress shirt. Satin. I have to obtain some of my dignity, don't I?

I've forgotten what it feels to dress so luxuriously..

One button after the next, come on now, must rush, that girl will be here any minute..

There. Shirt must be tucked in, cuffs are buttoned, collar is down and neat, boots..don't need to be tied.

These pointed boots are the most comfortable thing I own.

Probably one of the only things I own.

The Ministry left our home in shambles. It took Narcissa, Draco, and the whole staff about a week to fix it again.

Brilliant me, I had that idiot boy bring all our dark things to Borgin and Burkes. He'd forgotten a few.. little things, but they didn't cause too much trouble.

Fudge didn't know how to use them, nor what they were.. and the new Minister.. Puh.

May as well put that Longbottom child's parents up for office.. they'd be better than him.

I need that cloak, where is that robe?

There, in the chiffarobe.. yes, this one.

Must dry my hair.. that drying spell-oh yes.

Alright, there we go..now the clasp- yes, right there..

Things are so.. untidy now..

Hair is tied back, robes on, dressed properly.. I must look at least semi-decent.. why would they interview me for such a cause?

Now, look at the mirror one more time..

Oh, it hurts.

It pains me to see such a horrid thing.. Narcissa must.. hate me.

For destroying the looks she married me for.

Sometimes I actually feel /bad/ for her.. but.. other times, I don't. I married her for the same reasons she married me.

One; it was forced.

Two; For her looks. She was gorgeous, she had money.. she was as well known as my family at the time.

We were ment to be together, really, but I digress.

Actually.. come to think of it, she shouldn't be in pain. She doesn't have to live this wreck, support this lifeless body and drag it hither and thither, does she?

No. She does not.

I do.

Therefore, I am in pain.

My name is Lucius Malfoy.

I was released from the wizarding prison, Azkaban, exactly a week prior to this very moment.

Ten years of rotting in a jail cell.

I've ruined my life.

Welcome to my home.

My family has resided in the Malfoy Manor for generations. So many generations, in fact, that it would possibly take four hours to list the number of "Great"'s in front of the word "Grandfather' if I were to tell you who created, founded, and was the first Malfoy.

My father, Abraxas Xavier Malfoy III, had shown me the portraits of every single one of them as I was a child.

Took a full twenty four, grueling, boring hours. I did not need to know who the first Malfoy was, I did not care. My mind was revolved around myself. Outsmarting my father, becomming greater than him, I had to. No matter what.

Must bypass him in all ways possible. Get a more beautiful, intelligent, well known wife than my mother had been. I had succeeded.

Bypass him in Death Eater rank. I had succeeded as well.

Stay secretly a death eater, keep out of harms way, and keep my family relativly unharmed until the day I died?

I had failed.

As a child, I had always been taught to come out on top.

Be the best. Number one. No acceptions, no highway option. I couldn't weasel out and get an 'E' on final exams.

It was either an 'O', or nothing. Anything below that, and the consequences were severe. I had a very strict upbringing, strict parents, strict rules, strict guidlines to life.

I had always told myself, 'I will not raise my children like this, and nor will they raise their own in such a fashion', but, here I am.

Draco's curfew was still twelve o'clock. Twenty years old, still living and mooching off of his parents. As long as he lived under /my/ roof, he would abide by my rules.

Draco was not to talk back (although he did, frequently.), make snide remarks (he also did.) or rude comments to either of his parents. Needless to say, most of said comments and remarks are directed towards myself, as I seem to be the object of his loathing now a days.

He also was to be awake by seven o'clock sharp every morning. That, he abided by. Draco was always the early riser.

I myself could use a few extra hours of sleep, but I have things to do during the day. Can't sleep through it.

Enough with my senseless ramblings.

I've taken too much time to reflect on the useless, simple things..

There.

That filthy mudblooded child is knocking on /my/ door.

My expensive oak door.

I do realise, that once I open said door, I'll be unleashing hell..

On myself, of course.

Well.. don't beat around the bush, Lucius..

Time to welcome a filthy halfbreed into your home..

Limping down the steps, remembering to hide such limp after the Granger child was upon the threshold of my abode, I opened the door slowly, as not to pain my already tense muscles.

Then, I said the words that would force me to wash my mouth out with soap later on.

"Welcome to the Malfoy Manor, Miss Granger."


	2. Things Change Over The Years

"If it were up to me, I wouldn't have to interview this monster.."

The soft mutterings of Miss Hermione Jane Granger-Weasley could be heard, as the twenty year old witch bustled around the home she shared with her husband, Ronald Weasley.

The interview she dreaded today happened to be one with the man who'd almost done the Golden Trio and Ginny Weasley in a good seven years ago.

The man who detested magical children of muggle decent, the man who obviously and particularly couldn't stand her the most, it seemed, for bypassing Draco in all of his classes by at least ten points.

The man who had recently been released from Azkaban, to her dismay.

Lucius Malfoy.

She harbored more hate for the Malfoy patriarch than imaginable. It was hard to put into words, the hatred she possessed.

She couldn't stand him. She couldn't' stand walking on the same ground as him, thinking she was breathing the same air, living on the same planet.

Well, her job was her job, and they wanted her to interview said Malfoy. She had no choice but to do it.

"May as well put a smile on while I'm at it.. Not that he deserves it." she muttered as she buttoned up a white dress shirt after tucking it in neatly to a grey pleated skirt, much like the Hogwarts uniforms.

Stepping into black high-heels, she pulled a robe on over it all; fixing the very detailed brooch Ron had given her for her nineteenth birthday, which also happened to be their anniversary.

Putting on a silver clasp that held the cloak closed at her neck, she brushed out her shoulder length hair, putting a charm on it to make it less bushy, although it was still slightly curled.

Tying it back in a tight bun, a single strand hanging down in her chocolate brown eyes, she sighed, surveying herself in the mirror once more.

Putting a Quick-Quote Quill in her small black traveling bag, as well as a few extra rolls of parchment, she slipped her wand into her robes and sighed yet again.

Looking at the mirror one last time before going into the bathroom, she brushed her teeth, washed her face quickly and quietly, trying not to disturb Ron as he slept.

She'd obviously grown a bit over the years. She now had a nice, hourglass figure, and was thinner, cheekbones a bit more pronounced, a light blush on her cheeks, very light copper eye shadow on her eyes to accent them.

Small diamond studs in each ear were the only piercing she'd had. She didn't like permanent body art. Enjoyed admiring it, but not walking around with it on her. She'd just thought the earrings would look cute, and indeed, they did.

Walking over to the bed slowly, she brushed the shaggy, red locks from Ron's pale forehead, kissing that lightly. "I'll be home soon, Ron." she whispered, although he still slept.

Picking up her traveling bag, she left the room, making sure to close the door quietly before going into their baby's room, which was adjacent to theirs, in the next room over.

Kissing the sleeping child's forehead, she left that room as well, not sure what the day's activities would bring.

Once down in the kitchen, she sighed, making sure everything was neat and tidy, before aparating to the front step of the Malfoy Manor.

Clearing her throat and smoothing out her skirt, she sighed, a little smile appearing on her face as she raised a hand to knock on the door.

Surprisingly, she was greeted warmly, but she knew not to be thrown off by this man-... oh, my.

She knew not to think much about him, since he could invade her thoughts and read them, but she couldn't help but see how.. Lifeless Lucius was.

He'd once been so high-strung, yet alive, and snappy. Now he looked as if poking his arm would break it, so fragile, so helpless-but he wasn't helpless!

Hermione had to keep reminding herself of that.

'You're dealing with an ex-Death Eater, here, 'Mione..' she thought to herself. 'He isn't to be taken lightly. Imagine what he could be thinking...'

"Pleasure to see you again, Mister Malfoy." she said politely, the little smile still plastered to her soft honey features.

Lucius merely grunted in response, which she found rather rude, but let it pass.

She sighed, saying, "Is there any place you'd like to-"

"-the Living Room, Miss Granger. If you'd be so kind." he smirked, and Hermione thought she saw just a small little flash of maliciousness in it, but was proved wrong.

This man was probably incapable of smiling.

"Yes.. Do you need any-" she was cut off, yet again.

"I'm quite fine, thank you." Lucius responded curtly, hiding the limp, although it was clear he was in a bit of pain as he made his way to the Living Room, waiting for her to be seated before he sat.

She took a seat on an armchair not far away from him, placing her things on the floor, parchment on the table, Quill poised on the tip, quivering, ready to jot down whatever came out of her mouth next.

She cleared her throat, saying, "You may refuse to answer questions if you find them too personal, Mr.Malfoy," informatively.

"Or if you find them inappropriate in any shape or form."

Lucius nodded tiredly with a sigh. "Yes yes, Miss Granger, I know. I've had countless interviews this week. I know how they work." he muttered flatly.

She sighed.

Maybe this would be a little harder than she thought..

Speaking directly to the Quill now, "Begin interview."


	3. Lucius Slips Up

Keeping his calm disposition and sitting upright in a respectable posture, Lucius heaved a silent sigh.

More questions. He hated being questioned. He had nothing to hide, of course, just the fact that he was being questioned for his answers to be put in Newspapers and such made him... agitated.

"Mister Malfoy, would you say you were wrongly accused of the crimes you supposedly commited?" questioned Hermione, who crossed her arms lightly as well as her legs, giving him an inquisitive look. This could be 'fun' after all.

"The charges that were held against me I could not deny," Lucius explained ruefully, not looking at her, not wanting to see that smug look on that filthy little mudbloods face-  
"I was caught in an act of self-righteousness, and I do believe the consequences were severe yet reasonable."

Hermione nodded.  
Now his answers were just boring, long and aristocraticly challenged-  
he could enter her thoughts. Must always remember that, never forget it. Vital thing to remember; dangerous thing to forget.

"Were your makeshift living quarters satisfactory? A great wizard such as yourself should be provided of worthy-"  
She silenced herself as she received a 'look' from him before he answered rather blatantly.

"That question is quite absurd, if I do say so myself," Lucius stated, before actually providing her with a suitable answer. "and a talented witch such as yourself should remember that the Dementors of Azkaban show no mercy towards any poor fool who finds himself locked there for more than a days time. My cell was the same as all others. Patheticly small, cramped, and uncomfortable." He finished with a sniff, raising a brow as his gaze was averted to the fire once more.

Slightly taken aback, Hermione nodded. "I see," she said thoughtfully with a little sigh.  
"What would you say you missed the most, Mister Malfoy?"  
Ooo. Stumping question! She had him here, a man without a heart, a man such as /Lucius Malfoy/ surely did not miss a thing--

"I admit I missed my wife more than anything," answered the dead looking man before her as he fixed her with a gaze that clearly said something like, 'What are you up to?' without words.  
"She recently passed on, not long after I was released."

Hermione was so taken aback that she actually stuttered, chocolate brown orbs widening in surprise, a light blush on her cheeks as she kneaded her hands nervously.  
"I'm terribly sorry to hear that, sir." She said quietly, though jumped when he snapped, "Next question, if you will."

Obviously, Lucius didn't like to converse about his wife. At all.

"How has Draco taken the loss of you over the years, sir?" she asked, fixing the quill again, as it had actually jumped at Lucius's abrupt tone of voice.

"Draco has not forgiven me for missing out on so many... things in his life, but I believe he will in time. At the moment, he refuses to speak with me." Lucius sounded rather amused at this, although no smile could be seen on his face, not a single trace.

"In other words, you do long for your sons love?" Hermione questioned, brow furrowing. She'd never seen this side of Lucius before..

"What father wouldn't want his son to love him?" Lucius asked, his tone suggesting her question was once again, 'stupid', due to lack of better word.

"I don't know, really." Hermione answered conversationally. "Excuse me for saying so, but you just never struck me as the type to want love from someone."

"Which is why you're writing a report for the Daily Prophet, and I'm working for the ministry." Lucius couldn't help that one. It slipped, and that damn quill wrote it down!

Hermione sighed. "On to the next question, then."  
Maybe he hadn't changed all that much, after all..  
"Do you hold a grudge against Cornellius Fudge?"

"That question is going a little too far, Miss Granger. I do not hold a grudge against Fudge, no, but I will not elaborate any further," Lucius shook his head lightly, as if emphasizing the point.

Hermione bit the inside of her cheek lightly.  
This interview pretty much sucked so far.. 

Oh well. Perhaps it would get better.


End file.
